Oct. i, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
277 
1 iNfi fl ft al 
iimJli 
Wig-Wagging the Last Antelope. 
As commonly regarded, the Great American Desert is 
not a sportsman's paradise; but, considered from the 
point of view of those who prefer quality to quantity, it 
contains a numerous population of birds and animals once 
common to a much wider range, but now driven to seek 
safety in the heart of a section that less often feels the 
foot of man. It was my good fortune to spend some four 
months in and around Death Valley about a year ago, and 
Bob, my half-breed Piute guide, brought this last state- 
ment home to my mind in a most vivid manner when he 
led me one afternoon to a sheltered nook in the Panamint 
Mountains, whence we had an undisturbed view of a band 
of about fifty bighorns feeding in perfect security at a 
distance of less than one hundred yards. This Indian 
knew the country perfectly, and often spoke to me of his 
band of "deer," by which, of course, I supposed he meant 
some herd of white-tailed deer that he had found living a 
comparatively restricted life in any one of the little val- 
leys with which these mountains are scarred. Like most 
of the breeds of the region, however, he was not given to 
overmuch talking; but some months later, when we had 
pitched a temporary camp up near the northwestern end 
of Death Valley, he came to- me and begged me to go and 
see "his deer." So the next morning, in that noiseless 
hour that comes just ere the sun lifts itself over the 
eastern rim of the world, I followed him away out over 
the level floor of the desert toward a blue-gray line of 
buttes which, so he told me, marked the rise of a river. 
Those who know the desert know, perforce, the desert 
river, shallow, slow-flowing stream that it is, rising from 
some fissure spring in the low hills, twisting itself through 
ten or fifteen miles of sloping plain, and finally losing the 
last silver thread in the insatiable sands. For a space it 
enlivens its world and makes possible the maintenance of 
the scant grasses and the few flowers that invariably 
fringe its brim. To it, too, come the wild things of its 
world, not alone, to drink its waters, but to feed them- 
selves with that which its waters bring from the soil. 
Following them in the everlasting order of the hunter 
people the world over come such primal men as manage to 
eke out an existence in this barren land; but for some 
reason, probably because it was in a way somewhat off 
the beaten trails of this part of the desert, no camp of 
Piutes had been pitched upon the banks of the stream to 
which my companion was leading me. This much I 
gathered in the rare intervals of his loquacity; the rest 
I learned by keeping my eyes open as ; we rode along. 
From early dawn until noon we passed slowly oyer as 
level a bit of country as can be found anywhere in the 
world, the well-trained ponies keeping up that rolling lope 
for which animals of their kind are noted and which puts 
behind them miles of which the rider scarce may take ac- 
count until he has reached his destination. The sun at the 
zenith found us fully forty miles from camp, and well 
within the shadow of a range of lava buttes which ex- 
tended some five miles on either side of the clump of mes- 
quite trees whereunder we paused to rest our horses and 
eat the lunch brought from the well-stocked larder of the 
camp cook. Then the way led on up through a defile in 
the lowest part of the range— a narrow gorge through 
which, in all probability, no white man had ever passed 
before, and on down to a little spring which flowed fit- 
fully from a crevice in a lava-covered wall of con- 
glomerate, wrought by the fires of long ago into a hard- 
ness nothing short of the patient cutting of the water 
could ever overcome. Below the spring other tiny 
streams, born of like sources, joined the main brook, 
until, where it broke away from the hills, it was a stream 
of some twenty feet in width and a foot or two in depth. 
Lush grasses studded with wild flowers innumerable and 
a thin line of scrubby mesquite shrubs bordered the water- 
course for a few yards on either side, but of animal life 
there was very little visible save a few long-eared jack- 
rabbits that slept away the heated hours in fancied security 
in the shade of the leafiest of the mesquites. For per- 
haps ten miles we followed the river bed, startling hares 
from their forms and stopping only to kill two of the 
dreaded "sidewinders," as the little yellow rattlesnakes 
of the desert are called, until the stream began to dwindle 
appreciably in volume and the verdure along its banks be- 
came a mere straggling line of green. Then suddenly, as 
if by some strange magic of nature, the narrcw coulee 
into which the river had sunk spread out into a miniature 
lake— a mere pond of some hundred feet in length and 
width and scant depth of not more than a couple of feet. 
Here the stream ended, and, motioning for silence, the 
'breed dismounted, tied his horse to one of the many con- 
venient mesquites, and started on foot around the western 
edge of the pool. Following his example, I soon joined 
him, and a few steps in the yielding sands brought us to 
a ridge of sand hills, thrown up by the last receding wayes 
of the mighty sea that once covered this desert, and which 
now blocked the further progress of the watercourse 
down which we had come. Along the base of the sand 
hills, headed ever toward the sun, now getting well down 
in the west, our course led. At last the_ half-breed 
seemed to know by some fine form of intuition that we 
were opposite the thing we sought, and, dropping flat on 
his face, he crawled to the top of the ridge, motioning 
me to follow. I did so, peering through the screen of 
greasewood bushes at the top of the sandhills at the little 
valley spread out below. 
Beginning at the very base of the sandhills, and evi- 
dently an underground outlet for the small lake we had 
just left, a narrow thread of green showed where water 
was flowing. Here and there groups of stunted mesquites 
offered shade, and all in all the sight was one refreshing 
to the eye long accustomed to the dead sameness of a 
desert landscape. But none of these things drew my at- 
tention as did the seven animals that fed unsuspectingly 
along the brook. "My deer !" whispered the savage at 
my elbow, yet he showed no desire to kill, and I am sure 
my only wish was for the old pony Premo now boxed up 
at camp more than sixty miles away. These were his deer; 
and yet they were not deer, they were pronghorns, the 
last band known to California — very possibly the last to 
be left alive of all the few depleted herds that yet remain 
in the New World, for it will, to my thinking, be many 
a day before the hunters of the outside world draw bead 
on these treasures of this primitive Ishmaelite. Long we 
lay there and watched them play and eat and rest, and 
then rouse themselves to graze again amid the grasses. 
Then we tied an old red handkerchief to the end/of a slender 
greasewood stick and with this improvised flag caught the 
attention of the watchful old leader, who, at first sight of 
the new object on his field of vision, raised his head with 
a snort we easily heard and dashed off down the valley, 
followed by his whole band, seven in all, two bucks and 
five does, as nearly as we could make out without glasses, 
though one of the supposed does might have been a year- 
ling buck. After a while, seeing that the flag continued 
to wave, the whole herd came back, slowly and with 
mincing steps, yet plainly overcome by their curiosity. 
So we drew them, patiently and so carefully lest we make 
the least sound, • that they came up within less than a 
stone's throw of our hiding place, and there, when we 
took the flag down, fell to grazing on the young shoots 
of the shrubs. And so we left them, none the worse for 
our coming; ourselves — one of us, at least — much the 
wiser if not the better "for having seen this bit of a life 
that is fast passing away forever. 
That night we camped on the banks of the little lake, 
killing one of the many rabbits of the region for our sup- 
per, and sleeping through the white desert night as only 
they can sleep who live the life of the wild. Next day the 
willing ponies turned their noses toward camp, carrying 
us in in somewhat less time than we required to cover the 
ground the first: day. But in all that silent, sixty-mile ride 
homeward, and in all the days that I knew him and 
hunted with him afterward, the taciturn half-breed never 
said ought of why he held this little band so sacred, or 
when and how he had discovered them. 
Harry H. Dunn. 
Trails of the Pathfinders.— XVI1L 
Alexander Henry (The Younger). 
{Concluded from page 216 ) 
On July 28 they started on their return to the north, in 
constant fears and . alarms lest the Assinaboines should 
steal their horses. A few days later the horses, troubled 
by mosquitoes, broke their ropes, and eight of them ran 
off in their hobbles. These could not be found again, and 
some of the people were obliged to go forward on foot, 
while the baggage was loaded on the remaining horses. 
On his journey back to the Pembina River, Henry had 
an experience comical to- read about, but not to endure. 
"We took the traverse for the mountain, but on coming 
to Cypress River found it had overflowed its banks about 
three acres on each side, and could find no fordable place. 
We were obliged to turn out of our way some miles, in 
going to where we perceived a large, dry poplar tree, and 
a few stunted willows, but there we had the mortification 
to find that the wood stood on the opposite side of the 
river. There being no alternative, we unloaded our 
horses and stripped. I crossed over, collected what brush 
I could find, and with the poplar formed a raft, so very 
slight as to carry scarcely more than fifty pounds' weight. 
The mosquitoes were intolerable, and as we were obliged 
to remain naked for about four hours, we suffered more 
than I can describe. The grass on each side was too high 
to haul our raft through to dry land ; we could use it 
only on the river by means of two long cords, one 
fastened to each end. Ducharme hauled it over to his 
side, and after making it fast, he went to dry land for a 
load in water up to his armpits, whilst I waited with my 
whole body immersed until he brought down a load and 
laid it upon the raft. I then hauled it over and carried 
the load to dry land upon my head. Every time I landed 
the mosquitoes plagued me insufferably; and still worse, 
the horse that I had crossed over upon was so tormented 
that he broke his fetters and ran away. I was under the 
cruel necessity of pursuing him on the plains entirely 
naked; fortunately I caught him and brought him back. 
I suffered a good deal from the sharp-pointed grass prick- 
ing my bare feet, and mosquito bites covered my body. 
The sun was set before we finished our transportation. 
The water in this river is always excessively cold, and 
by the time we got all over, our bodies were as blue as 
indigo ; we were shivering like aspen leaves, and our legs 
were cut and chafed by the coarse, stiff grass. We shot 
an old swan, and caught two young ones that could not 
fly; this made us a comfortable supper." 
Henry reached the fort August 14. 
"One of our hunters killed thirty-six prime bears in 
the course of the season on the Hair Hills. Whatever 
number of bears an Indian may kill in the summer or fall 
is considered of no consequence, as they are valueless and 
easy to hunt," Henry records ; "but after they have taken 
up their winter quarters the Indians glory in killing 
them." 
In August, 1808, Henry finally left the Panbian River, 
on his way westward, bidding adieu also to the Saulteur 
tribes, among which, as he says, he had passed sixteen 
long winters. His journey was through Lake Winnipeg 
to the Saskatchewan and Lake Bourbon, now known as 
Cedar Lake. On the 226. he passed old Fort Bourbon, 
established in 1749 by Verendrye, and entered one of the 
channels of the Saskatchewan. Wildfowl were very 
abundant as they pushed up the river. At last they en- 
tered Sturgeon Lake, and reached Cumberland House. 
They kept on up the stream, ascending the north branch, 
meeting Indians from time to time, some of whom were 
Assinaboines, called Assinaboines of the Saskatchewan, 
and as they had before this purchased some horses, they 
were fearful that these might be stolen. It was now 
September, and the bushes were loaded with choke- 
berries and service berries. Buffalo paths running in 
every direction were deep and numerous. Ammunition 
was issued early in September to the men for purposes of 
defense. Soon buffalo were met, and here Henry first ran 
tb^se ^nirmls over the rough ground of the plains, 
sovered with large round stones, and pierced at frequent 
intervals with badger holes. On September 13 he reached 
Fort Vermilion, where was a fort of the Hudson's Bay 
Company, and found the Blackfeet all about. Here 
Henry wintered, expecting to be visited by numerous 
tribes from the south. 
Just before Christmas, in December, the Blackfeet in- 
vited Henry and his Hudson's Bay neighbor to come to 
their camp and see buffalo driven into the pound. The 
two men went in dog sledges, and were kindly received 
by the Indians, but the weather was insufferable, being 
foggy* and the wind was contrary. They viewed the 
pound, where they "had only the satisfaction of viewing 
the mangled carcasses strewn about the pound. The bulls 
were mostly in retire, none but good cows having been 
cut up. The stench from this inclosure was great, even 
at this season, for the weather was mild." From the 
lookout hill, buffalo were seen in enormous numbers, but 
as the wind was unfavorable, every herd that was brought 
near to the pound dispersed and ran away. After having 
been there two days, Henry became disgusted, and re- 
turned to the post; but he was followed by a number of 
Blackfeet, who arrived the next day, and told him that 
they had scarcely left when a large herd was brought into 
the pound. 
Under date of September 6, 1810, is an entry which will 
interest those who h>ok part in the well remembered dis- 
cussion of Kipling's poem, "The Red Gods." "Gratton' 
erected his bellows and began to make irons for the poles 
of the Columbia canoes." This 94-year-old contribution 
to the literature of the subject is interesting. 
On the 26th of September, 1810, Henry set off on horse- 
back, westward; the canoes, of course, coming up the 
stream. Their destination was Rocky Mountain House, 
a post located on the north Saskatchewan River, a mile 
and a half above the mouth of Clearwater, three miles 
below Pangman's Tree, so named from the fact that 
Peter Pangman carved an inscription on it when he first 
sighted the mountains in 1790. 
On the way up the stream they found signs of beaver 
extremely abundant; but although one of the Indians set 
traps in the hope of taking some, the winds blew the 
smoke of the camp toward the traps, and the beaver did 
not leave iheir houses that night. The next day, how- 
ever, they took two, the signs still showing the presence 
of great quantities of beaver. Ahead of Henry was a 
camp of Sarsees, twenty-five lodges, which had just left, 
for at their camp on Medicine Lodge River, a branch of 
the Red Deer, the fires were still burning. They must 
have made a good hunt here, since the bones of beaver, 
bear, moose, elk and buffalo lay about their camp in great 
quantities. That afternoon they met five lodges of Bloods 
and Sarsees, with whom they camped. Game was 
abundant, and Henry notes on the 5th the appearance of 
a herd of strongwood buffalo, the bison of the hills and 
mountains, . so different in appearance and some of their 
habits from those of the prairie. Here, too, were seen the 
fresh tracks of a grizzly bear, measuring fourteen inches 
in length. 
When they reached the fort they found the Piegans 
friendly and quiet, but suspicious of the whites. "These 
Piegans had the fresh hide of a bull they had killed at the 
foot of the Rocky Mountains. This was really a curiosity ; 
the hair on the back was dirty white, and the long hair 
under the throat and forelegs iron-gray, and sides and 
belly were yellow. I wished to purchase it, but the 
owners would not part with it under any consideration." 
It is well understood that white buffalo, or those that are 
spotted, or indeed of any unusual color, are very highly 
esteemed by the tribes of the plains. Henry has referred 
to this before, and I have called attention to the sacred- 
ness of the white buffalo's hide among the Blackfeet, 
Bloods, and Piegans, and among the Cheyennes further 
to the south. 
It was now an active time, Bloods, Piegans, and Sarsees 
coming and going, bringing in some beaver, for which 
